Little Shards of Us
by The Knife In Your Side
Summary: Suddenly the mirror cracked, the fractures obscured our features, reflecting exactly what lay within just below the skin. All those shards. The dull lights that illuminated the school ladies bathroom shook and quivered until the bulbs blew, one by one, at the sheer pitch of her scream. My scream. Our scream.


**Written for _That's The Glory of Esther's_ birthday. Happy birthday, Jess. You bitch.**

* * *

I screamed into the mirror. The sound pierced the dense air like the edge of a sharpened knife. My hands clasped the sink frame so tight my knuckles turned white. The girl screamed right back at me, that ruby lipped girl with eyeliner than ran down her cheeks. That girl who only this morning had looked so put together… so absolutely flawless.

Suddenly the mirror cracked, the fractures obscured our features, reflecting exactly what lay within just below the skin. All those shards. The dull lights that illuminated the school ladies bathroom shook and quivered until the bulbs blew, one by one, at the sheer pitch of her scream. My scream. Our scream.

And then she abruptly stopped. And then she curtly smiled, head tilted to the side, smearing away the black eye makeup, before reaching through the broken mirror to violently grasp my wrist, prying it from the sink with striking speed.

She flickered like an old film between faces; green eyes to cold blue but always that grin… those sharp teeth, like razors.

And Peter smiled, such a warm and loving smile, like a proud father to his daughter… but then with a quick forceful yank towards him, cracked my head open on the mirror.

I lurched violently up in my bed with a short cry, thrashing in my sheets and clasping my palm to my forehead to try and stop the non-existent flow of blood.

Immediately firm and reassuring hands wrapped around my small frame, murmuring softly that it'd be okay. It'd all be okay. _Okay._

"Steady your breathing…" the kind voice spoke into my hair, and I followed his instructions gripping tightly to his shirt.

Slowly, I cracked my eyes open and as clarity returned to my mind, I realised exactly what was wrong with the current situation.

I turned to him with suddenly fierce eyes, "What exactly are you doing in my room at–" I paused to look at the alarm clock on my beside table, "–a quarter past three in the morning!"

Shoving him off me with force he flailed backwards with shocked eyes and tumbled with a thump onto my floor. I winced slightly, hoping the sound didn't awaken my mum. Probably not, when she takes her sleeping pills she's usually out like a light in seconds.

The lanky boy wheezed as he picked himself up, standing at the foot of my bed – a safe distance away – staring at me with sad eyes, "I… I wanted to make sure you were okay, after the Darach… Ms Blake… after what she did to you… I-I didn't want her to take you too…"

"She didn't try and take me, she tried killing me," I replied bluntly.

He shrugged, head hung slightly, "Same thing isn't it."

"Stiles…" I felt all harshness leave me, as I looked at him. He was so tired, eyes bloodshot still with a scab on his chin and small cuts across his cheek. A tear in his shirt. A small blood stain on his jeans. Hands shaky with a quivering jaw.

Reaching forward, I pulled him closer and he begun babbling, "He was taken, Lydia… like my mum was taken… I don't want you to be taken too, okay… I just can't–"

"Shhh, it's okay Stiles, I understand," I held his head to my shoulder, attempting to keep him calm.

"I don't want to be alone in my home," he whispered barely audible, but I heard and so I stood, clasping my hand in his and pulling him with me towards the bathroom.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up,"

He looked curiously at me, slightly shocked as we both simultaneously realised I was wearing only my underwear and an oversized t-shirt, but he quickly looked away blushing. I didn't really mind as much, flicking on the bathroom light. The two of us squinted at the sudden bright onslaught to the senses, but quickly adjusted.

Turning towards him, I saw just how torn up and… dead he looked – as if the light had been sucked right out of his eyes and had left him but a shell of what once was. That grinning, lively Stiles that I used to ignore when he said hello in the hallways seemed to have died compared to what stood with me now. I wish I'd known him then. Maybe if I had it'd have been easier to know him now, see him now. I could have just remembered the times when he was happy. However long ago it was. Maybe it'd have been easier.

I spied the mirror in the corner of my eye and felt my heart go cold, remembering the horrifying dream. Looking into my reflection in fear, I reached up, fingers brushing over the bruises around my neck. I shuddered at the thought of this nights previous events.

He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, "It's okay, Lydia," he breathed and I pried my eyes away, blocking the haunted thoughts out of my head. I had a friend who needed me, just as much as I needed him.

It felt strange though. Stiles had always looked like such a kid to me, so young despite our close age proximity. Witty and sarcastic and awkwardly charismatic.

_Happy. _

Oh, how that paradise had been torn apart. In every sense of the word.

Mundane things such as happiness were more memories than realities these days.

"You're pretty beaten up, you'd better have a shower," I saw the look on his face, that look where you just _knew_ there was a witty remark on his tongue – one he wouldn't usually hold back if not for the sadness he felt, "Not with me, you're not that lucky," I teased slightly, trying to coax a smile out of him. I did, and however slight it was, I counted it as an improvement none the less.

He pulled his shirt off over his head, slightly facing away as if embarrassed and I felt my cheeks redden slightly at the sight of the sheepish look he wore. No longer so confident. Then he moved to remove his pants and I decided it'd be a good time to look away.

"You know I'm wearing boxers and you don't have to actually do that. I'm not a briefs kind of guy," he muttered and I bit my lip, looking back and seeing him standing there, still slightly turned away containing a shyness I'd never seen in Stiles, in a pair of checkered blue and white boxers, arms folded across himself. I tried really hard to tear my eyes away; he wasn't like most guys I'd seen. He wasn't pure muscle or tanned – he was pale and lean with light freckles dusted down his arm mixed with a few scabs from prior supernatural-related escapades. He wasn't self-assured or proud of what I was seeing, I could tell that. I doubt a girl had seen him naked in his life.

Slowly I stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek, lingering before moving away, "H-how about you pass me those and I'll wash them. I'll find a shirt," and then I left before I could ever have seen the look of shock in his face as he raised a hand to his cheek in surprise.

Shutting the door, I eventually heard the shower water begin running as I searched through my closet for something he could wear. Digging into the depths, I found a few shirts of Jacksons and other guys I'd have stay, but I tossed them aside, feeling slightly ashamed for even finding them in the first place. Then, I did find something my hands seeing a glimpse of red, I seized the item and pulled it up.

It was his hoodie, the red one he hadn't worn in a long time. Well now I knew why – it'd been here, buried in my closet.

And yet… I couldn't place where it'd come from.

Suddenly remembrance hit me like a tidal wave.

"Oh."

"Oh what?" a voice asked.

I whipped my head around having not noticed the shower stop running. Stiles stood in the door way of the bathroom in his boxers again with wet hair dripping down his face and I stood, approaching him with the hoodie clasped in my hand.

"How do I have this?" I asked, rather sharper than I'd meant.

He bit his lip looking away, "I left it with you…"

"What does that mean?" I questioned.

Stiles hung his head, "I'm so sorry Lydia… I found you, that night, you know. On the field after you were bitten… and I left you… _I left you_… he forced me away… I am so, so sorry, Lydia…"

My voice was low, "You called Jackson… and all this time I thought…"

"That it'd been him?" Stiles voice broke slightly.

"That I'd imagined you," there was silence for a moment as I realised how close we were standing, "Why did you leave it, though?" I whispered.

He smiled sadly, eyes glassy with tears unshed, "I didn't want you to be cold,"

Another silence.

"Well I don't want you to be cold now," I stepped ever so slightly closer, dropping the hoodie to the floor. I pressed my lips to his, wrapping my arms around his neck. I could feel the initial shock inside of him as every muscle in his body tensed, but slowly he relaxed, kissing me back passionately with a force I didn't expect, but welcomed entirely. His lips gradually moved down to my neck and I moaned quietly, as strong hands lifted me up and I wrapped my bare legs around his waist. Stumbling backwards somehow the two of us collapsed onto the bed in a heap of my sheets.

And suddenly I remembered how mundane things like happiness, however rarely, could sometimes become realities. You just had to find the right person, the one whose little shattered shards fit with yours. The one who didn't fix you, but let you be broken with them.

It was a strange and damaged sort of harmony we found that night.

But still, we found it.


End file.
